Drink With Me
by Rosalind1776
Summary: 1776 and Les Miserables What if Les Amis de l'ABC weren't the first people to sing Drink with Me?
1. Philadelphia

Drink With Me

A/N: I own absolutely nothing. Sherman Edwards owns 1776, and Victor Hugo owns Les Miserables, although Herbert Kretzmer and Alain Boublil wrote "Drink With Me" for the musical. I'm just an adoring fan. :-D.

Please Read and Review, but flames will only be used to toast marshmallows.

July 4, 1776

_It's done. It's finally done. _These were the only words that had crossed Thomas Jefferson's mind for hours. Early that morning, the Declaration-his Declaration-had finally been signed. It was over. And yet, judging by the sullen look on John Adams's face, it had really just begun. They were truly in rebellion now; they would win their rights to "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness", or they would die in the attempt.

That second option seemed to be sinking in as many of the delegates sat in a local pub that night. The room was unusually quiet for such a vibrant group of men. Every few minutes someone tried to tell a joke or spur conversation, but all attempts had failed. Even Hopkins was sitting silently, gazing steadily into his mug. As fond of quietude as Tom was, he just couldn't stand this.

He raised his glass and sang quietly, "Drink with me to days gone by. Sing with me the songs we knew."

Thomson's voice joined his as the Secretary's glass was also held up, "Here's to pretty girls who went to our heads."

Ben Franklin's voice rang out from the corner of the room, "Here's to witty girls who went to our beds." Tom turned to look, and the man was smirking and had that infamous sparkle in his eye. He was seemingly unfazed by their impending doom. Tom remembered something he had once read, that to the well organized mind, death was merely the next great adventure. He was sure Franklin would see it that way.

The three men finished together, "Here's to them and here's to you," holding their glasses toward each other and then toward the other delegates in the pub.

Stephen Hopkins, the self-proclaimed oldest man in Congress (in fact, he was second to Franklin in that honor), took up the tune. "Drink with me to days gone by. Can it be you fear to die?" The men looked around to see whom "Old Grape and Guts" was addressing. Many were surprised to see that he was speaking, or rather singing, to the youngest man in Congress, Edward Rutledge. "Neddy", as Hopkins called him, looked a bit paler than usual, quite strange for a man of so much confidence.

The elder man continued, "Will the world remember you when you fall? Could it be your death means nothing at all? Is your life just one more lie?"

Rutledge looked up at Hopkins with a strange expression. A mixture of annoyance and what could possibly be anxiety crossed his face. Jefferson was forced to remember that Rutledge was seven years his junior (something the South Carolinian made it very easy to forget, with all of his manipulation and scare tactics) and Tom knew his type. Fear was a sign of weakness, and weakness was unacceptable. Honestly, Tom was starting to feel sorry for him, which was a radical change to how he had felt a few days earlier. At that point, Rutledge had been detailing the slave trade to the Congress, trying to discredit the slavery clause in Tom's Declaration. The fact was that nearly every word he had said that day was true. His words had successfully silenced the Congress; most of them had felt too guilty to speak. Even the usual talkers, Adams and Dickinson, had had very little to say.

Most of the room was singing now. "Drink with me to days gone by, to the life that used to be." Dickinson had always tried to stick to that old life, never changing. He learned in the end though. Tom realized that he had probably misjudged the conservative. He certainly loved his country if he was willing to fight for a cause that he didn't believe to save her. Also, Tom didn't have anywhere to talk about changing old habits.

"At the shrine of friendship never say die." Tom looked over at John Adams (Franklin had practically dragged him into the pub), who had finally looked up from his letter and to everyone's amusement, had rather reluctantly joined in. "Let the wine of friendship never run dry. Here's to you and here's to me." Tom raised his glass to Adams. For just one moment, he thought he saw the eternal agitator smile. John was obnoxious, disliked, and rather irritating. However, he cared about his country too. He believed strongly in his cause and would see it through, even if it meant ruffling a few feathers along the way. He meant well, even if he wasn't exactly what anyone would call a "people person".

The song ended, and the anxiety seemed to ease. Well, at least you couldn't cut it with a knife anymore. Tom looked one more time around the room. What he saw was a group of men, "no more, no less" as Franklin had said. These men could be cowards, liars, and manipulators. At the same time, they could be clever, brave, and surprisingly sincere. At this point, it didn't matter who was wealthier or which colonies were supposedly better. They were all in the same boat. If this went well, posterity would dub them heroes and founders of a new nation. If it went wrong, they would be traitors. At least they would be long gone before those history books that Franklin always spoke of were published. Tom couldn't help feeling relieved about that.

He glanced out the window and noticed that the moon was nearly full as it shined down over Philadelphia. It cast an eerie glow the streets, making people that Tom knew were perfectly solid look spectral. He shuddered, but he couldn't seem to look away. There was a haunting beauty in the sight, and as a writer, he supposed he could appreciate that. Surely it wasn't a bad omen...was it?


	2. Paris

Disclaimer-Again, I own nothing. This is where everyone's favorite students come into the picture.

June 4, 1832

Jean Prouvaire looked out over Paris from the window of the Café Musain. His eyes met a similar sight to Tom's. In contrast, he jumped when he saw the ghostly glow of the moon. Perhaps this was because the violence and danger of his revolution were near at hand. Jehan could barely hear Enjolras's voice over his own anxious thoughts. _What if the barricades fall? What if we make no difference? Will the people ever be free?_

At least Jehan knew they would never be forgotten. He had done too much for work for that to happen. He had sat in this café for months, writing the stories of these men. He had left no detail unnoticed, no remark unrecorded. If they died on the barricades--or perhaps when they died, it wasn't so much a question of "if" anymore--they would die in body, but they would live on the in the pages that Jehan had written. His friends and comrades, immortalized in the words he had chosen. The world would know that they had been there, fighting for what they knew was right.

What a group of friends it was! Enjolras, the distant leader; Combferre, the guide; Courfeyrac, the center; Grantaire, the cynic; Joly, the hypochondriac; Feuilly, the orphan who had made the world his family; Jehan himself, the writer, the dreamer…..And yet, none of these people could be summed up into mere labels or descriptions, they were so much more complex than that. Even in the hundreds of pages Jehan had written about these men, he doubted whether he could truly capture them. But of course, he had done his best, and he supposed that would have to do for now…

Jehan was so immersed in these poetic thoughts; it took him a moment to realize that Enjolras wasn't talking any longer. In fact, he, as well as most of the room, was brooding quietly as Jehan had just done. Feuilly raised his glass and sang softly the words that, unbeknownst to him, had guided another group to freedom. "Drink with me to days gone by…."

The next morning dawned strangely cold for June. Enjolras announced grimly that the people hadn't heard after all, and there would be no help for them on the barricades. Jehan had never seen his fearless leader look so devastated. However, not one student left their ranks. This was their cause, freedom to the people. And if they had to go it alone, well, so be it. Feuilly was singing the same song again, but as the others joined in, they added to the last line. "Let the wine of friendship never run dry. If I die, I die with you!"


End file.
